


You’re so naïve

by rainicornsan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mild Smut, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainicornsan/pseuds/rainicornsan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had chosen each other again.<br/><br/><br/><em>Norway's skin is always so cold.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re so naïve

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N** : This song does not represent my headcanon about Icey and Nore’s relationship, therefore I took nothing but the title from it. But come on, let's admit it, they do are naïve!  
> But why are they in the same bed? I don't have any idea, sorry :P  
> I just felt like writing a nice OS about these pretty boys and I did it, without figuring out why.  
> Oh, and... Again, excuse the possible mistakes you will find, but I am Italian.  
> Even if I try hard, some mistakes can't just be helped!  
> 

**They didn’t talk much, when they were home alone.**

Iceland realised it while keeping to steal glances at his brother.

He was leaning by his side, and he looked so beautiful… With his delicate features, the straight and soft hair and that skin, almost as light as his own, he could look inoffensive.

His lips were slightly parted; they could resemble two petals. Were they that soft?

His chest rose and fell; and so the shirt that wrapped it did.

On the contrary, Iceland used to sleep with his boxers; one of the little habits he had involuntarily picked up after living with Denmark for such a long time.

He had tried to sleep in a pyjama, but he just couldn’t bear it along with a duvet in the middle of the summer.

Norway felt continuously **cold**.

He couldn't help finding it weird, as in his oldest memories his brother's skin felt warm.

Coming to think of it, it had been ages since the last time he had touched it.

Not directly, at least. He couldn’t recall ever taking his face between his hands, he couldn’t recall holding him tight, he couldn’t recall resting against his bare ches-

At the intimacy of that last thought of his, the embarrassment flushed Iceland’s cheeks.

What the hell was he thinking?  
He awaited the sleep for many minutes.

  


Silence.

Silence.

_Silence._

  


**Damn, he was so curious.**

But maybe it wasn’t curiosity. The point still was that he couldn’t fall asleep.

He wanted to touch Norway. Desperately.

He restrained himself for endless seconds and minutes,

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


until he decided he just couldn’t do it anymore.

Keeping on staring at Norway didn’t certainly help.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


He leant his hand on that cheek.

It was cool.

When he started to climb his neck down and noticed how cold it felt, he almost let out a scared whine.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


While Iceland buried his hand beyond the shirt’s collar, the air surrounding them was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

There, the skin felt icier than ever.

He felt the sudden need, the impelling desire to draw nearer, to take that damned pyjama off and to hug him until he felt better.

By then, Iceland’s face was completely red.

His fingers slowly came down to reach his heart.

The slow heartbeat reassured him, but it didn't last long.

And what if he waked up?

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


The answer manifested in the shape of a calm and focused gaze. At that sight, Iceland's throat tightened in a painful grip, restraining a broken sound. He didn’t want that to come out of his mouth.

“Ice.”.

He softly moved the palm, almost trembling, yet without going somewhere else.

Could he _feel_ it too?

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


Norway was the home where his heart truly was[1].

Norway _was_ his heart.

Iceland gathered courage, rising his own eyes to stare back at him.

Damn, **like that**.

He could see every single violet sparkle, distinguish any bluish shade from the other ones. Even throughout the thick, candid eyelashes the both of them had, those eyes could blind him in the dark, _seduce_ him in the dar-

His attention shifted to the pale hand that rose from Norway’s hip to reach his own and rest on it through the fabric.

Of course he could _feel_ it.

Norway’s fingers climbed Iceland’s arm, coming to a halt at elbow height and pulling him gently towards his body, as impassive as usual.

There, it had finally happened.

Iceland tried to breath the slowest he could, rigide for the embarrassment.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


Iceland's face was buried in his neck, their bodies tightly pressed one against the other. That was no good.

Such a closeness was no good for him.  
It was intoxicating, but at the same time so **inebriating**.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


He never figured out how much it took him to find the courage to move his hands under his shirt, satisfying the overwhelming instinct to _touch_ , to _feel_ , to _warm up_.

He unbuttoned the shirt without even noticing, as if the buttons where undoing themselves on their own, leaving Norway's chest defenceless to the imperceptible shivers the night caresses with.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


He kissed the soft skin.

Who knew how he could classify those emotions of his, burning stronger than all of his volcanos?

Iceland didn't think about it in that moment, busy as he was in trying not to make that strange kiss on the neck look like **something that absolutely wasn't**.

In another moment, he would have slapped himself. Denial was stupid.

Warmth, warmth.

Here there was what he was doing.

Warmth. Nothing but **giving warmth**.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


“Ice.”.

“Mmh?”.

“ _Sssh_.”.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


Probably, he didn’t expect to **receive warmth**.

Not in that way, not like that.

Not with that hand leant on his hot cheek, the only other witness of his shame, bringing him at his face height.

He had never seen that soft glimmer in the depth of Norway’s serious eyes.

And if Norway was always handsome, in that moment he looked ever more beautiful, at his sight. Swallowing a frustrated sound, he roughly rested his forehead against his.

He wanted more of everything.

He wanted more of his eyes, he wanted more of his skin.

  


I love you I love you

_I loveyouIloveyou._

_  
_

Bursting, he was bursting.

One teardrop crossed his cheek, leaving a cool feeling behind his path.

Why did it have to be so difficult?

His cheek caressed his brother’s, wet because of Iceland’s weak cry.

“Everything is fine…”.

There it was again, the frustration.

He wanted to be the one that warmed him up,but it wasn’t happening.

He wanted Norway to stop treating him like a child.

He wanted to be truly loved, he wanted to…

What maddened him the most was the suspect that Norway knew all of it, every single thing passing by his brain.

As if he had said that out loud, Norway’s thumb moved from his cheek to his lower lip, gently brushing it.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


“ _Nore_ -”.

And there it was, his hand shifting to his own silvery nape, the following contact. Finally.

A soft, brief kiss, one of those kisses the wings of a butterfly can kiss each other with while it lends on a flower.

  


It wasn't enough.

  


Iceland kept his eyes firmly closed.

He was afraid to start hearing alarm bells, if he did otherwise.

But he also didn’t want to miss Norway’s relaxed beauty, the way he looked during that delicate bond.

When he decided he couldn’t take it anymore, he opened up his lips and his eyes.

The astonishment depicted on Norway's face was worth all of it.

And that new kind of warmth, damp and burning, Norway’s grip tightening on his hips.

He wanted it, now he was definitely sure.

They had chosen each other again.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


He tore the useless shirt away and cuddled up on top of him like a kitty, his legs astride Norway’s thighs.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


A new feeling started to stir up right there, where their groins brushed; it promised bruises and contact and closer _closercloser_ and bites and pleasure and **love** , but Iceland didn't think he was ready for that.

  


Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

  


Iceland kissed Norway’s throat again, feeling fucking happy in noticing it was hot. Quietly quivering.

In that moment, they mutually decided that it was enough.

Reconciled in their tension, they fell asleep and woke up together, the one holding tightly the other and never letting go again.

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> [1] I am not making anything up, it comes from Himaruya-san’s blog :D


End file.
